


what it is to remember

by whowhatsitwhich



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:04:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4576221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whowhatsitwhich/pseuds/whowhatsitwhich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The old residents called it the Wall, a nod to a similar memorial up the road in DC.  Land was in a limited supply within the confines of the Zone. Every square inch had to be utilized…homes built, crops planted, families raised. The Wall fulfilled another need…one as human as the drive to survive and propagate…to mark the past and etch it deep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what it is to remember

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing...de nada

 

_“They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:_  
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.   
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,   
We will remember them.” ― [Laurence Binyon](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/157010.Laurence_Binyon) 

Alexandria, with its walls and solar panel grids and veneer of civility, was a relic as much as the walkers staggering blindly across the miles. It was a shell of the world that had long since moved on. Gone. Erased. Before. Things that seemed so important then; now they just didn’t matter. In Alexandria though, they took stock. They categorized. They cataloged. They remembered. 

The old residents called it the Wall, a nod to a similar memorial up the road in DC. Old rites couldn’t be observed, nor old rituals honored. Land was in a limited supply within the confines of the Zone. Every square inch had to be utilized…homes built, crops planted, families raised. The Wall fulfilled another need…one as human as the drive to survive and propagate…to mark the past and etch it deep. Daryl snorted in disbelief the first time Aaron mentioned it, finding the idea ludicrous. Who in their right mind would waste time looking back? Best to keep your eyes facing front and your mind on the here and now or you might find yourself neck deep in shit and no shovel in sight. 

_“It’s beautiful. Whoever did this cared. They wanted these people to get a funeral. They remembered these things were people before all this. They didn’t let it change them in the end. Don’t you think that’s beautiful?_

He hadn’t then and he still didn’t. No use hanging on to something that was long gone. It was like putting your faith in hoping and praying. In the end, none of it did a damned bit of good. Those words, Beth’s words, stayed with him though. When they lost her in Atlanta. When Tyreese fell outside Shirewilt. When they lost Noah on one of the first runs after they’d made it to Alexandria. When him and Aaron came back with Morgan in tow to find Rick standing over the surgeon, Anderson while Deanna wept over the blood stained remains of her husband. 

They burned the bodies and strewed the ashes outside the gate. It was then Aaron mentioned the Wall, the subtle change in his voice when he said the word giving it significance and meaning. When Daryl asked him about it, Aaron wordlessly led him across the settlement, angling past Father Gabriel’s ramshackle church. Just behind it was a pocket sized patch of ground enclosed in a wrought iron fence. The narrow gate was lightly decorated with whorls and scrolls, flanked with pots of flowers. They couldn’t walk through it side by side. A kissing gate, Aaron named it with a rueful smile tugging his lips up. Daryl snorted and stepped through, his eyes drawn to a slab of smooth black marble covering most of the fenced in area. 

“Who are they?” He asked, despite a dark suspicion blossoming in the back of his mind. 

“Everybody we’ve lost,” Aaron answered solemnly. “Family, friends, comrades in arms. People need the trappings, Daryl. They need something tangible, something real. It helps.”

“How’d they get the names on there?”

Aaron stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “One of the first groups I brought in, a man named Parsons worked for a granite company before. He mentioned it to Deanna and she gave the go ahead. He uses a dremel tool to do the carving.”

“Can anybody get a name added? Who do you talk to? Deanna?” 

The unlikely urgency in his voice underscored its importance. Aaron didn’t ask why but simply offered up the requested information and then watched his friend stride purposefully away. He wondered at the strange expression Daryl wore, a curious blend of hope and bone deep sadness. He made as if to follow but something brought him up short. Hope. It was a fleeting thing, a fragile thing. Leave it be, he decided. Maybe, just maybe it meant something good was on the horizon.  

* * *

Four weeks later, Carol followed at Daryl’s heels as he led her on a rambling course across Alexandria. When he circled the church and the small enclosure came into view, her steps slowed and then stopped. He looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowed and mouth a thin line until he saw her pale face and the glazed look in her eyes. 

“Trust me,” he mumbled hoarsely. “We’ll bring the rest of em…Rick, Carl, Maggie, the others…but I wanted you to see it first.” Her eyes flickered toward the marker and then back to his, glassy with unshed tears. _I can’t let myself but you…I know you._ “I know you,” he heard himself say. “You can. Please.” His soft voice faltered, flat-lined. “Carol.” He floundered helplessly. 

“Okay,” she broke in, her hand slipping into his, fingers braiding together. “I’ll try.” 

They stepped through the gate, although the sight of pale yellow petals made her miss a step. He didn’t ask why but squeezed her hand and pulled her closer until she was pressed against his side. “Stay with me. Alright?” At her nod, he tugged her on until the names resolved themselves against the glossy backdrop. 

They were all there. All of them. Every. Single. One. 

Bob, Tyreese, Dale, Andrea, T-Dog, Dale, Jacqui, Amy, Noah.

Tara’s sister, Lilly. Her niece, Meghan. 

Andre Anthony, Michonne’s baby boy. 

Hershel and Beth.

Lori.

Lizzie and Mika.

A whimper escaped her as her fingers trailed over cool stone and then the sharp edges of carved letters.  Daryl stood aside, watching quietly as she examined the markings, his hands atypically still at his side. 

Merle

Sophia

The dam broke. 

Her tears ran thick and fast, sobs wracking her body as she wrapped her arms around herself and gave herself up to her grief. 

He approached her carefully, warily. Wrapped her up in a loose embrace as he muttered nonsense into her hair, offering what comfort he could. Let her cry until her voice was ragged and raw and her limbs slack. She had to feel it. They had to feel it. Make room for the pain instead of being buried underneath it. 

“It’s beautiful,” she said in a hoarse whisper. 

Staring into her tear reddened eyes, soft and clear and blue as the sky overhead, he remembered those words again. 

_T_ _hey didn’t let it change them in the end._

Carol, his Carol, was still there…still trying. And it was beautiful. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 


End file.
